


Notebook Revelations

by Doctor_Discord



Series: The Ego Manor [76]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Discovery, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sobbing, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19121404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Discord/pseuds/Doctor_Discord
Summary: Dr. Iplier accidentally discovers an old notebook of the Host's. It's bloody and warn andpacked. But the Host loves when he reads his writing. It wouldn't hurt to take a peek, right?





	Notebook Revelations

Dr. Iplier stepped into the Host’s room, fully intent on collapsing into bed and taking a _nap_ (his day at the hospital had been an… _experience_ ), but instead he just sighed, placing his hands on his hips when he spotted the Host’s desk. Papers, as usual, were scattered _everywhere_ , a few _dozen_ notebooks stacked in varying precarious positions around it. Peggy had obviously explored the area recently if the several knocked over bottles of ink and the black paw prints trailing about were any indicator. He knew the Host wasn’t going to clean it up. He probably wouldn’t even notice.

With another drawn-out sigh, Dr. Iplier set about reorganizing and tidying up the surface, darting back to the kitchen briefly to grab cleaning supplies to wipe off all the ink. However, when he opened a couple of the drawers to put away the stacks of parchment he now had, he swore under his breath at the sight of the even _more_ disorganized drawers. “Oh Goddammit, Host,” he muttered. “I know you’re blind, but _really?_ ”

Fortunately, his menial little self-imposed task didn’t take long. He was on the last drawer in no time, taking everything out in order to assess whatever the _fuck_ was in there. He paused. Buried at the bottom, in the far back of the last drawer, was a notebook. It looked… _old_ , and store-bought too. The Host made his own notebooks and journals, but this one wasn’t handbound like the rest.

Gingerly, Dr. Iplier lifted the plain black notebook in his hands, moving to sit on the bed as he ran a hand over the cover. He….he _knew_ this notebook. He was the one who had bought it. He’d bought it just _days_ after he’d taken the Author back to the manor, just days after he’d torn his eyes out. He wasn’t even close to the Host yet, but he wasn’t quite the Author anymore, either. He’d been in some terrifying state of in between, his empty sockets in a constant state of weeping blood as the tormented ego _screamed_ and _sobbed_ and clawed at his chest as his soul shifted in an agonizing, torturous transformation. Dr. Iplier had bought the notebook in an attempt that something so familiar would soothe him. However, the second it had touched his hands, his whole body had seized up and he’d flung it at the far wall, curling into a tight ball on the floor with his knees curled up to his chest and his arms covering the back of his head as he sobbed. It had taken nearly an hour for Dr. Iplier to calm him back down into a manageable state.

He never knew that he had _used_ it.

Dr. Iplier ran a hand over the cover again, almost hesitant to open it. It was _definitely_ used, he could see that some of the pages were unsalvageable and stuck together with blood just from the side. Just thumbing through it, he could see that it was _packed_ , every single page covered in words from back to front. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. The Host had long-since given him the okay to read his writing, no matter what it was. He thrived off it in fact, always growing adorably giddy whenever Dr. Iplier referenced something from one of his stories.

So, taking a deep breath, Dr. Iplier peeled back the cover.

The first thing he noticed was that it was _not_ the Host’s handwriting. The Host’s handwriting was loopy and curved, almost calligraphic with how much painstaking detail he put into it. This handwriting was neat but scrawled, like it belonged to someone who knew how to write fast, someone who was used to getting their thoughts onto paper as quickly as possible while still being legible. This was the Author’s handwriting.

Swallowing passed the lump in his throat, Dr. Iplier began to read. The longer he read, the more _horrified_ he grew as he realized that it was just _pages_ and _pages_ of all the Host’s self-loathing, suicidal thoughts in the days and weeks since Dr. Iplier had found him in his cabin. At first, the writing was all in first person, but it quickly grew into a confusing blend of first and third as his transformation picked up steam. Dr. Iplier read faster and faster, tears beginning to stream down his face as he read every word. Most of it sounded like the confused, panicked ramblings of a man afraid of his own shadow, exactly what he _was_ in those trying few weeks. All the things Dr. Iplier could never have known crammed into one place, lines and lines of him spitting venom at himself, despising all the things that the Author did and saying how much he wants to be forgiven while simultaneously wishing that he were dead and never given the chance.

One line had his heart breaking.

_‘ ~~I~~ The Host wishes that Dr. Iplier had left ~~me~~ him alone in that cabin to bleed out and die._

And another had it _shattering_.

_‘All it would take is a nick. Just a small little cut, somewhere Dr. Iplier couldn’t find in time, and I would be gone.’_

Dr. Iplier let out a heart-wrenching sob, one hand flying to his mouth as his vision blurred with tears, unable to read any longer. He physically shook as he squeezed his eyes shut, the notebook resting in his lap as his other hand joined the first, curling forward a little. The Host had _hated_ himself. Dr. Iplier had read so many lines of the different ways he had planned to kill himself, and he’d read even more of how he _despised_ himself for never going through with it. He’d called himself a coward, a disgrace, _weak_ , _pathetic_ , someone unworthy of how much _devotion_ Dr. Iplier had put into saving him, and he had been _terrified_ of himself. Of the Author. And Dr. Iplier had been there through _all of it_ , he had been with this man every single day, and he _never knew_. He never knew. And that’s what broke is heart into millions of shattered little pieces.

His head shot up, his mouth still covered by his hands in an attempt to muffle his sobs, when he heard a knock on the door. “Dr. Iplier?” At the sound of the Host’s concerned voice, he just broke further, curling almost completely forward as his sobs just grew louder. “I-is Dr. Iplier alright? The Host heard him crying and –”

It was then that he opened the door. The Host froze in the doorway as Dr. Iplier looked up at him, his figure blurry and distorted through his tears and the notebook blatantly on display in his lap. The Host swallowed thickly, voice cracking a little. “ _Oh_.”

He closed the door slowly before moving to sit next to Dr. Iplier on the bed, folding his hands in his lap and staring downwards. Dr. Iplier drew a gasping breath, hands falling from his mouth as he picked up the notebook in one hand, the other gripping the Host’s arm. “Why –” His voice broke, hiccupping a little through his sobs. “Why didn’t you ever _tell_ me?”

The Host’s head shifted like he wanted to face him before he changed his mind, continuing to just stare downwards. “The Host…In the early days, the Host was so deep in his own self-loathing, he assumed Dr. Iplier would encourage his mindset. He…he did not desire being told that he was everything he thought.”

Dr. Iplier choked at the Host’s words, his grip tightening briefly on his arm. “You…you thought I would _encourage_ you to kill yourself?!” At the Host’s slow, hesitant nod, Dr. Iplier could’ve sworn he felt his heart stop, and he shook his head, physically shaking as he gripped the Host like a lifeline. “No…no no no no no, I…I wouldn’t…I would never…” He wrapped both arms around the Host’s, burying his face in it as he gave another broken sob. “ _Why wouldn’t you tell me?_ ”

He felt the Host shift, gently laying a hand on one of Dr. Iplier’s arms. “The Host hasn’t thought that way in a _long_ time,” he whispered. “It…wasn’t relevant anymore. The Host did not deem in necessary to needlessly worry Dr. Iplier.”

Dr. Iplier suddenly raised his head sharply, staring at the Host through narrowed eyes. “Yes, because me finding out that you planned to kill yourself _dozens_ of times a day for _God_ knows how long after the fact is _so much better!_ ” He paused, his anger rapidly melting away as he drew another shuddering breath. He picked up the notebook again, closing it gently. “When…when _was_ the last time you wrote in this?”

The Host turned his head away from Dr. Iplier completely, his hand moving from his arm in order to rub the back of his head. “…The day before the Host and Dr. Iplier got together.”

Dr. Iplier choked again. “A year – you wanted to _die_ every day for a _whole year?!_ ” Again, the Host nodded. Dr. Iplier raised one shaking hand to cup the Host’s cheek, turning his head to finally face him. The Host was crying just as hard as he was, just silently, his bandages soaked through with tears. Dr. Iplier pressed a lingering, shaking kiss to his other cheek before pressing his forehead to it, then buried his face in the crook of the Host’s neck. “I love you. I don’t… _please_ don’t…I…” He was beyond words as he wrapped his arms around the Host, pressing himself as close as he could. “With all the stuff about Silver…I can’t _lose_ you…”

The Host shifted to wrap his own arms around Dr. Iplier. “The Host loves Dr. Iplier, too. So, _so_ much.” Dr. Iplier felt him swallow harshly. “If…if it wasn’t for him, and the care and devotion and _love_ he has put into the Host since his transformation…he would’ve killed himself long ago. Dr. Iplier…he gave the Host something to live for.”

Dr. Iplier sobbed into his shoulder, hugging him tighter as the Host continued. “In…in the beginning, he couldn’t understand _why_ Dr. Iplier cared so much. He hated himself for everything the Author did. _Everyone_ hated him for what the Author did. He was just… _waiting_ for Dr. Iplier to reveal his true colors and despise him like everyone else. But…he never did. And then he started developing feelings, and Dr. Iplier kissed him for the first time –” He cut himself off with a gasping sob, tightening his grip on Dr. Iplier. “The Host is not going _anywhere_ anytime soon. He gives Dr. Iplier his word.”

Dr. Iplier pulled back, nodding rapidly before swallowing thickly. “Okay. Okay, I believe you, just –” He picked up the notebook again, thumbing through the pages before throwing it as far him from him – and the Host – as he could get it, not even watching it hit the wall before he was crashing himself against the Host again, pulling him down onto the bed and curling around him protectively, still shaking like a leaf. The Host made a small noise, shifting even closer and burying his face in Dr. Iplier’s chest, fisting his hands in his coat. Dr. Iplier pressed a kiss to his hair. “I love you. _God_ , I love you. I-I-I know you said you haven’t thought like that in a _long_ time but…talk to me, okay? Because…you _do_ have your moments. February 6th…”

The Hot seemed to stiffen at the reminder before forcing himself to relax, burrowing closer and intertwining their legs. “…Okay. The Host…the Host promises.”

Dr. Iplier pulled the covers over them both, resting his chin atop the Host’s head. He wasn’t tired anymore, adrenaline pumping through his veins. The Host was humming against him, his ear pressed to his chest, and no doubt being lulled with the sound of Dr. Iplier’s heartbeat. He sighed through his nose, pressing another kiss to the Host’s hair.

They’d be alright, as long as they were together.

**Author's Note:**

> Ooooooooooh my poor son. Ooooooooh my son. I love him too much, so I must hurt him _exquisitely_. Anyway, guess what!!! Sunday is Father's Day! _And then the fucking wedding oh my God it's so close I can **taste** it!_


End file.
